


Douchebag

by benedictcumberlongpond



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Sibling Incest, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictcumberlongpond/pseuds/benedictcumberlongpond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes Dean became acutely aware of the fact – when Sammy had slammed one too many doors, or got in a fight with dad because of a vending machine, or snapped at Dean as he was leaving the bathroom – that his little brother was kind of a douche bag. " Sam is hormonal, Dean is in love, sex occurs. Good times all round.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Douchebag

Sometimes Dean became acutely aware of the fact – when Sammy had slammed one too many doors, or got in a fight with dad because of a vending machine, or snapped at Dean as he was leaving the bathroom – that his little brother was _kind of_ a douche bag. 

Dean knew that _he_ was an asshole, but finding out his little brother was as well? Kind of a blow to the gut. After all, Dean had raised the damn kid basically, and if he had turned into this: whining, door-slamming, kicking, bitching, emotionally manipulating, _this_ – well then that was a reflection on Dean, damn it. 

It made Dean remember some kind of cheesy placard he had read about how a parent’s love was unconditional, and fuck it, it was true. He loved Sammy, so damn much. 

Too damn much. 

No seriously. Not in an adorable ‘I love you more than I love myself’ kind of too much, in an ‘I would die for you and I would kill for you and I would rip my own heart out of my chest with my bare hands if you asked me to’ kind of too much. 

Oh, and also an ‘I want your dick in my ass’ kind of way. But Dean could forget about that, pretend it wasn’t true, just fuck a million girls and his fist and his pillow and nab Sam’s shirts when he thought they were in the laundry. 

He could _survive_ without that. 

But this whole douchebag thing was making it difficult. 

Especially when Sam was an asshole to him. 

When Sam was saying, in the kind of tone only an angsting fourteen year old can have, with his number one bitch face and his folded arms and his flaring nostrils and his jutting hips, that it was _Dean’s_ fault that there had been more than one Djinn, that he should have double checked – and never mind that it was Dad’s fucking case that they were supposed to _just be checking out_ for him and _fuck,_ Sammy, don’t you understand I would never, ever, _ever,_ fucking ever, do anything that would intentionally hurt you? Don’t you get that? 

“Stop it, Sam!” Dean shouted, and his voice was a whip and a slap and too much like dad to make either of them comfortable. Sam stopped. He stood still, looked at Dean through slitted eyes. 

“I would never do anything to hurt you, Sam.” Dean said, his voice smaller. “You gotta know that, kiddo.” 

Sam huffed out a breath through his nose and nodded slowly, looking away briefly before sighing and coming towards Dean, enveloping him in a big, gangly hug that made Dean forget why he had even been mad. 

Sam was too much limbs and slowly hardening muscles, he was short enough that Dean could rest his chin on his head, but tall enough that it made it slightly awkward. Sam never said anything, just pressed his face into the skin of his brother’s neck like he had done as a newborn when Dean would cradle him. 

“M’sorry, De.” Sam said softly, and Dean sighed. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, little brother.” He promised.

“Not true.” Sam whispered, and Dean felt a kind of dampness against his skin that made his head reel. Was Sam crying? 

He got the immediate urge to punch whatever it was that had made his little brother upset. 

“Hey, not your fault Sammy. You’re hormonal and stuff.” 

“No, Dean.” Sam said, semi-firmly, voice higher. “M’not hormonal. I’m wrong.” 

“Jesus fuck Sammy, don’t say that.” Dean said quickly, pulling him towards the motel bed and slumping into it, pulling Sam into his lap so they were hugging tightly. It was an awkward position – their crotches were too close and Sam’s legs were too long, but they stayed like that anyway. 

“I’m always so angry, Dean.” Sam whispered. “And… violent.”

“Hey, same.” Dean replied carefully, raising a hand to brush the back of Sam’s hair. It was getting shaggy, too-long in a way that made him want to cut it again, to sit Sam in front of him and gently snip away those curls until the back of his neck was visible again. 

Sam shook his head softly, pulling back to look at Dean with his clever, green eyes. 

“Not you, Dean. You’re perfect.” Sam said earnestly, and Dean snorted a laugh in response. 

“I’m the opposite of perfect,” Dean countered, _the opposite of you._

Sam shook his head resolutely and pressed his face back into Dean’s neck. 

“Would you still love me even if I was wrong?” Sam asked against his skin, his voice was low and broken from crying and Dean’s hands were automatically rubbing soothing circles into his back. 

“Hey, ‘course I do. Love you no matter what, Sammy.” Dean said, feeling something deep inside of him protesting to Sam thinking he was wrong. Sam was the opposite of wrong. Sam was the only good thing about Dean. “Why do you think you’re wrong?” 

“I did some research,” Sam mumbled. “I have feelings that are against the law, Dean. In every state.” 

“Hey, feeling angry isn’t a crime,” Dean protested.

“Incest is.” Sam whispered back, his muscles tightening after the sentence had been uttered. 

Dean froze, his brain rolling over the words Sam had just said, clicking into place slowly until he was clearing his throat and whispering, “It’s not dad, right?” 

_“Dean,”_ Sam whined, and Dean grinned against his dorky little brother’s shoulder, pulling Sam tighter against him. 

“This why you been getting so bitchy lately?” 

“I knew you’d make a joke outta this.” Sam huffed, attempting to pull away. Dean sighed, letting him pull back slightly so he could look in Sam’s eyes. 

“Sammy, we literally kill things as a living. We run credit card scams. You know how many bars I’ve been in? A lot more than any other seventeen year old. When in our lives have we ever been inside the law?” 

Sam’s mouth twisted slightly and his eyes were scanning Dean’s face like he was trying to remember it. 

“I think one more thing on that list doesn’t make you wrong, little brother.” Dean told him. 

“Really?” Sam asked, and Dean leant forward to kiss his forehead meaningfully. 

“Really.” 

Sam’s breath caught and he kept the distance between them, this one or two inches that meant they were basically breathing the same air. Sam was waiting for him to make the move, Dean knew that, knew that Sam knew. Knew that Sam knew that Dean knew that Sam knew that Dean knew he was in love with his little brother. 

He knew that. 

He just didn’t know how to close this gap. 

He was about to say something, break the silence, make some stupid joke, when Sam made the decision for him. 

The brush of lips was gentle, could be laughed off as accidental for a few seconds before they stayed exactly where they were – and Dean could tell his little brother was putting himself on the line here, so he did what any good brother would do. 

Well maybe not. 

He licked into his brother’s mouth and pulled against his hips, forced their pelvises together and bit gently on Sam’s tongue when it pushed into his mouth. 

He ran hands under his t-shirt against the smooth skin of his back, scraping nails across his shoulder blades and rutting upwards so the hard line of his dick brushed against Sam’s growing erection, swallowing his groan and trying not to completely lose it because, _shit_ , Sam was only fourteen. 

“Dean, c’mon.” Sam urged, pushing on Dean’s shoulders until he was laying flat on his back with Sam on top of him and _wow,_ that was a nice visual. 

“It’s ok, Sammy. I gotcha.” Dean told him, ‘cause it was his job to look after his little brother. 

Carefully he tugged at Sam’s shirt, baring his chest and groaning at all that undeveloped muscle and smooth skin, rubbing his hands over it and feeling his little brother shiver. 

His hands moved to Sam’s pants, tugging down the zipper and freeing his cock, huff of breath leaving him at the sight of it. 

“Beautiful, Sammy.” Dean cooed, pulling on Sam’s knees so he was no longer straddling his waist, instead his thighs were framing Dean’s face and his cock was pressed against Dean’s cheek. 

“Want it, baby boy? Gotta hear you say it.” 

“Please, Dean.” Sam whispered, jutting his hips forward so precum smeared against Dean’s lips. Dean opened his mouth, flicking his tongue through the stickiness before opening wider and pushing his hands against Sam’s ass, bringing his hips forward, swallowing that cute cock into his throat until Sam was gasping above him, raking fingers through Dean’s hair and making unintelligible noises. 

“Fuck, Dean, _shit,_ please.” Sam said weakly, his hips thrusting as though he couldn’t quite comprehend the pleasure coursing through him, and Dean felt a surge of pride at the thought that he was probably the first person to do this to Sam. 

His suspicion was confirmed when Sam’s hands tightened, hips jerking as his cock spurting hot come into Dean’s mouth, too fast and too hard – he could feel it dribbling over his lips and down his throat and he swallowed loudly, helping Sam to lay down next to him. He was boneless and pliant, his jeans still halfway down his legs and a sated smile on his face. He pushed that smile into Dean’s shoulder and sighed. 

“Love you, Dean.” He whispered. 

“Love you too, Sammy.” Dean promised, smiling as his brother slowly fell asleep. 

Staring at his aching erection in the dimly-lit room with his brother crushing his wanking-arm, Dean decided that his assumptions were totally correct. 

Sam was a douchebag. 

But he loved him anyway. And when Sam nuzzled forward, sleep-lazy and warm, and pressed the heel of his hand into Dean’s cock – Dean decided to scratch his last comment from the record. 

Sam was _awesome._

**Author's Note:**

> I only managed one 'baby boy', Isa, but you still have to love me.   
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
